Friday Night at 8
by pseudonymitous
Summary: Annie and Auggie go on that date. Edited Ch. 3 from original publication. Ch. 4 contains strong language.
1. Pick Me Up

Auggie Anderson was not often caught up in wardrobe decisions, but tonight was different. Tonight was the big show.

He'd waited for this night for what felt like forever, but never imagined that his primary hangup would be choosing between the solid and the stripes. His watch declared it seven thirty when he heard the roar of an engine outside his window. It sounded like a very familiar roar, but he elected to ignore it. Until the knock at his door.

"Who is it?" he called. He wasn't just going to open the door shirtless. He'd learned his lesson.

"Nosy neighbor."

He slid the door open, lesson be damned. "Annie Walker. Don't you own a watch?"

"August Anderson. Don't you own a shirt?" Annie blew past him like she owned the place. "I'm sorry, I wanted to get here early."

"Well, you nailed it," he grinned. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the restaurant."

"Okay, you ready? Hold out your hand."

Auggie obliged with a groan. His fingers closed around a very familiar set of keys.

"Walker, what's this about?"

"Well, I wanted tonight to be special. For you, too," she licked her lips, choosing her words. "So, instead of meeting up, I thought we could go for a drive. Together."

Auggie's words were repressed by a lump in his throat. He just managed a smile before she snatched the keys back out of his hand.

"Get a shirt on, Anderson. This isn't Geeks Gone Wild."

Auggie retreated to his bedroom and Annie put on some Coltrane. Perfect selection for the evening. It wasn't until he was alone that he allowed himself to process what a touching gesture it was. She knew him. She knew that if it were up to him, he would have picked her up in the convertible with the top down and taken her somewhere great and been obscenely chivalrous all night. His giving her the convertible had been a small way of saying he was giving up. Her picking him up was a small way of saying she just wouldn't let him.

"Tell me something about yourself that I don't already know," Annie said, leaning forward. They were settled in the back corner of a decently quiet restaurant, in one of those booths that only seats two, holding hands across the table.

"Okay. When I was at Fort Bragg, I kind of picked up this subconscious Carolina accent," he felt himself blushing. "My mom hated it so much that she gave me twenty bucks not to talk to anyone at Thanksgiving dinner."

"No way that's a true story."

"Scout's Honor," Auggie laughed. "She's never really grasped the concept of picking one's battles."

"Do it," Annie dared. "I wanna hear it."

"Hell no," Auggie took a sip of his beer. "Your turn."

"You know everything about me!" Annie insisted.

"You started this game, Walker, you've gotta play it."

"I dyed my hair red when I was fifteen."

Auggie winced. "Yikes. That wouldn't suit you at all."

Annie grinned. "How do you know? You don't even know what I look like."

"I dunno, Walker. I've figured a pretty good picture."

Her tone was playful. She leaned in closer. "I'd love to hear it."

Auggie chose his words carefully. "Well, you're a blonde."

"Correct."

"About 5'6 in flats."

"Yeah. And my eyes?"

"Your eyes are warm, and honest, and piercing."

Annie's hand grew warmer, indicating a first-class blush, but Auggie wasn't stopping. He'd been wanting to tell her this cheesy crap for three years.

"Your mouth is wide and soft and packed with teeth you think are too big but I think are proportionate to the size of your smile, which is enormous and bright, bigger when you laugh. Your nose is smooth. It doesn't get in the way of a kiss. I'm a fan-"

Before Auggie could finish his thought, Annie was proving just how non-intrusive her nose could be. She kissed him across the table, taking his face in her hands. When she pulled away, she only went so far that their foreheads were touching.

"So, how'd I do?" he asked, smile widening to the point where his cheeks ached slightly.

Annie laughed. "I'll let you know once I've heard that accent."


	2. Long Way Home

They didn't drink much at the restaurant, since Annie decided she was driving and Auggie wasn't in the mood to make her suffer for it. Auggie paid, despite Annie's protests that chivalry was outdated and going Dutch was the polite thing to do. The way he saw it, tonight was his chance to show her what a gentleman he could be, to begin a long and arduous process of reimbursement for all the years she spent opening doors for him.

They walked out to the parking lot arm in arm, but after a moment, Auggie found himself holding her hand. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but it felt right. He'd brought the cane along, as per standard procedure, but also because he hated the idea of making her feel like she was responsible for keeping him from walking into stuff. But once they fell into step, he felt like he could've pitched the cane and been just fine.

The drive back to Annie's place was chilly, but perfect. The wind whipped at their cheeks, blew through their hair, and made Auggie remember why he missed driving. It was in the middle of this melancholy that Annie reached over and took his hand. She was a bad driver, but he found himself feeling more comfortable than nauseous.

"Sorry, I couldn't really think of anywhere better to go," Annie said as they entered her kitchen. "But I have wine. And ice cream."

"Sounds like a winning combination," Auggie said with a grin, leaning against her countertop. The grin faded after a moment, replaced by a serious question that he suddenly deemed very urgent. "Annie, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she said automatically. He heard the cupboard open. One squeaky hinge.

"What was your first impression of me?"

The cupboard closed with a gentle clap of wood on wood and Annie set a full bottle on the counter. "Are we still playing that secret game?"

He fought to keep his voice from shaking. "Sure."

"Okay," she said, digging around in a drawer, probably for a corkscrew. "Promise you won't laugh at me?"

Auggie laughed nervously, running his fingers along the smooth countertop. "No."

"Okay."

She located the corkscrew, set it down beside the bottle and after a moment, walked around the counter. He guessed she was in arms length, but he didn't dare reach for her, for fear of missing. Rather, her fingers found him, winding around his waist, her middle pressing against his own.

"I felt like I'd known you my entire life," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder so their faces were a breath apart. "I didn't know anything about you, but you were the one who came after me, who answered my questions before I asked them. You made me feel like I didn't have anything to be afraid of."

"You don't have anything to be afraid of," Auggie murmured into her hair. He didn't know why that came out of his mouth. Maybe it was because of the absolute hell this kitchen represented. Maybe it was because there was no greater gift one spy could give another than genuine reassurance. Maybe it was because he knew deep down that Annie Walker could make it on her own, but she kept coming back to him, armed with unconditional love and trust.

"What was your first impression of me?" she asked, tilting her chin up. Their lips were practically touching now. He could feel the heat of her breath. So close they were almost kissing. He was so full, in that moment, that he feared he would burst with information and emotion. But what came out was the truth.

"I've been a little bit in love with you ever since you admitted to liking Mingus."


	3. Annie's Sofa

Annie had a nice couch. It was stuffed really evenly. He bet if a salesman put a wine glass at one end of it and had a model jump around on the other, the wine wouldn't spill. But that was pure conjecture.

Annie sat on one cushion, the wine end, while he sat at the model end, each with a spoon in hand. A tub of cookie dough ice cream sat between them. Weird how it paired with the cheap chardonnay she found at the bottom of her fridge.

"Sorry all I have is chick food," she said, somewhat apologetically.

"What the hell do I care?" He didn't mind eating like a woman who'd just been dumped.

"You've got a little something on your face," she said.

He sighed. "Really?" It came with the territory, but tonight of all nights?

"Yeah, let me get that for you," she set the ice cream and her glass on the coffee table and scooted closer, on one knee.

He expected to feel a napkin, or her finger, but instead felt something cold and sticky.

"What is that?" he jumped, but he didn't jump _up. _With his luck, his first step away from the sofa would be directly into some irreplaceable family heirloom. Breaking grandma's vase was a guaranteed mood killer.

"Hang on," Annie said, laughing. "I've almost got it."

She was smearing ice cream. On his face. He laughed in spite of himself. She licked her fingers, threw her head back in a fit of belly laughter that bounced off the walls and filled up the room. It was contagious.

"Oh, it is on, Walker."

He felt around for the ice cream and stuck his hand in, brought it up to her face. She tried to move away, but he located her by her uncontrollable laughter. The dessert made target on the side of her nose, her chin, her cheekbone, her hair.

"You think you're clever, ambushing the blind guy?" he laughed, pinning her, his face only inches from hers.

Annie stopped giggling and struggling. Instead, she arched her back up and kissed him on the mouth. It was sweet and creamy and explosive, the heat of her lips and the cold of the ice cream mingling in his mouth. He braced himself so neither of them would fall off the couch.

"You're getting ice cream all over my shirt," he said when they came up for air. "I spent a long time picking it out just for you."

"Is that so?" she asked, wiping her sticky fingers on his collar and kissing him again.

His head was spinning. "You can expect the dry cleaning bill in the mail."

After a few more kisses, on the cheek, on the nose, on the neck, he felt compelled to pull away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. "Is it the shirt? Because I thought you were kidding, but I could totally clean-"

"No, no. You didn't do anything," he couldn't believe he was doing this, sitting at the edge of her couch like a teenager who wasn't ready to go all the way.

"Then what?"

"This is our first date," he said. "I just feel like things are moving so fast... Walker, I have liked you from the day I met you. And I have been with other girls and none of them have stacked up to you. Not by a mile. I don't want to go too fast and ruin what we have."

Annie was very, very quiet for a long moment.

"You still there?"

To his surprise, she took his hand in hers.

"You'll have to work harder than that to lose me," she said. Her voice was quiet, warm, reassuring. She released his hand and ran the back of her own along the side of his face, starting at his sideburns, down the cheekbone, lifting his chin ever so slightly. "Now, let's get cleaned up."

He followed her, expecting her to take him to the shower, but ending up in the kitchen. She ran the tap and began to wash her hands.

"Here," she said, handing him a washcloth with which to wipe his face and hands. He had her at his six o'clock, the water at his four. If this was like every other kitchen in the world except the extremely nice ones, the spray hose would be at his-

"AUGGIE!" she shrieked, indicating a bullseye on his part. His three o'clock, yes. The hose was at his three o'clock.

"You didn't think I wouldn't get you back, did you?" he laughed as she swatted him with the sopping washcloth. "Hey, at least the water's warm!"

She laughed a quiet sort of laugh, that trailed off and lingered in midair. "I would suggest we get naked, but we literally just agreed to take it slow."

"I'm sorry," Auggie said. He was partially sorry that he'd made the decree right before pulling a surefire get-naked-now move. He was partially not sorry at all.

"Is it still taking it slow if you spend the night?" her voice was suddenly sleepy.

Auggie smiled, closing his eyes. "I suppose we could fudge the books a little."


	4. In The Dark

At some point, they fell asleep on the couch. At another point, Annie woke him up.

"You wanna move this to the bed?" she whispered.

"Lead on, Annie Walker."

She took him by the hand to the bed. He listened as she bumped her shin on something and cussed like a sailor.

"Fuck me!" she hissed, hopping slightly.

"Where's the 'please'?" he joked.

It was a little comforting, the reminder that other people were clumsy in the dark sometimes, too. He intentionally walked a few inches to the left to avoid whatever the hell that was. The hollow 'thud' sounded like a piece of wood furniture, maybe a bench or a chest. His shins had a negative relationship with both.

She fell on top of the covers and pulled him down with her. They lay there in what he presumed to be the dark, face to face. She brushed his hair back with her hand. He let her.

"Hey, that thing with the car tonight?"

"Yeah?"

"Was that... was that an okay thing?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Did I... overstep? Trying to do something nice for you?"

"You constantly overstep, Annie. That's what makes you great."

"What do you mean?" she sounded slightly offended, hurt even. "Like I'm pushy?"

"Only that you are always pushing me to be better."

Annie left him in contemplative silence for a moment. Auggie wondered if he'd really stepped in it, but Annie wasn't the easily offended type. At least, not by him.

"I know it was a big step, your giving me that car."

Auggie thought back to that day in the parking garage. "That was a rough day."

It was. Straight up shit. And he'd topped it off by chasing a woman who didn't love him all the way around the world. A woman who'd just dumped him. He'd thought it'd be romantic to make it work, when really he was just being That Guy, not taking no for an answer.

"I had a pretty big crush on you back then," Annie whispered.

"Man, my Spidey Senses are way off," Auggie replied.

"Mine too," Annie laughed.

Auggie pulled her close and kissed her deeply. "I'm glad we came around."


End file.
